"Go jump in the lake!” Bren shouted, but the door to the old theater had already swung shut a few inches from her nose. She pulled on the ends of her braids and let out a cry of frustration. They never, ever, ever let her in. She knew it was partly her fault, forgetting to bring a hat to cover her hair, but she knew that even if she did, they’d still find a reason to kick her out. The crisp air of late autumn nipped at the tips of her ears as she stood alone on the darkening street. Her long red hair, alight like a wildfire in the throes of her rage, kept the fading sunset alive. The glow washed over the street which had long since stopped using streetlamps. “This is discrimination!” she muttered, and kicked the heavy door.
“Don’t tell me they’re already full?” a voice asked. Bren turned around to see a dark man behind her. Stranger. She slid her hand into a pocket to find anything to defend herself with. The man, now illuminated in red, was about her age, maybe a bit older. His black clothes camouflaged him in the dark. Her hand relaxed around the scrap she’d found when she saw how dejected he looked.
“No, um, they just kicked me out. I’m sure you could still find a spot to squeeze into,” she said, her anger ebbing slightly. Her family always said she was too trusting, but she refused to take her anger out on some poor guy who just wanted to see the film. “Though the doors opened almost an hour ago, you’re a little late to the party.”
The man’s gaze dwelled a little too long on her third eye, unblinking as she stared back at him. He cleared his throat a little before looking down. He reached into an inner pocket of his brown coat and Bren hunched, a cat ready to pounce. But he simply pulled a slightly crumpled flyer out. The theater usually distributed advertisements drawn crudely on the back of any scrap of paper they could find. “I’d been hoping to slip in after the crowd,” he said sheepishly, “in case I see anyone who isn’t terribly fond of me.”
Bren felt a little camaraderie with this man. He only had two eyes and he didn’t glow, but she saw a little bit of herself in him. The lonely bit, probably. It was nice not being immediately scorned for what she was.
“That’s a neat trick,” he said, pointing at her barely dimming hair. She reached up to cover it with her hands, and the strands warmed her fingers from the generated light. Bren felt a little embarrassed; she was so used to getting a wide berth because of her mutations, like she was contagious.
“You should tell that to the owner,” she snapped, “the bastard never lets me in.” She turned and kicked the door again, feeling a little satisfied when she saw the dent her boot made. “I keep trying to borrow hats from my brothers, but they always say they have more important things going on to lend me anything.”
“I guess the red would be a little distracting,” the man said.
“They never let me see any of them. It’s so unfair,” Bren complained. She kicked the door again for good measure before slumping against the brick wall next to it. She knew she was being immature, and she’d kick herself later for letting some stranger see her act like a child. But it had been a long bad day and she knew she’d probably never see this guy again anyway. She sat with her head bent, refusing to look at the stranger. She heard him humming above her and saw his feet shuffling about on the pavement. She didn’t have to be an incredible psychic to sense his awkwardness of trying to think of something to do. She bit back a remark about not needing his pity when she felt a softness fall over her head and shoulders, and her vision darkened.
“Here, you can borrow this.” he said.
The scarf he had draped over her had a foreign wooliness to it. It was black, like the rest of his clothing, and swallowed up the red glow of her hair. It scratched against her cheeks slightly when she pushed it back to look at him. He smiled down at her and held out a hand. She grabbed it and he pulled her to his feet.
“Thanks,” she paused, unsure what to call him.
“I’m James,” he said.
“Bren.” She wrapped the scarf tightly around her hair and followed him through the door. They slipped in and stepped over people sitting on the floor. She found a tight spot on the floor to the right of the screen but realized James was no longer behind her. Without the illumination she was so used to, Bren felt blind in the darkness of the theater.
The showing was of the second Back to the Future movie. Bren laughed along with the crowd at the goofy portrayal of the future the generations before them expected. The amount of color in this on-screen world, and their completely impractical clothing was so different from anything the audience would ever know. Bren closed her eyes for a moment and imagined herself flying down the streets on the strange hoverboard. Her hair would stream behind her, the tail of a comet as she blurred past. Outrunning the world.
The movie ended too soon and the crowd groaned as the lights turned on. Bren bounced where she sat in lingering excitement and grabbed the hand of the woman next to her. “That was incredible! Even better than the last time I saw it!” She beamed at the lady, who stared wide-eyed at Bren’s forehead before recoiling and pulling her hand sharply away. She pulled her companion up with her and the two looked over their shoulders as they whispered and rushed towards the door. Bren’s hand drifted slowly downwards, and her embarrassed glow flared until it started to peek from the folds of black. She got up slowly, pulling the wooly scarf tighter around her to obscure more of her face. She bumped into a few more people as she wove her way to the door and they snapped at her. She didn’t see James amongst the crowd milling outside the door, and she even ducked into the alleyway for good measure to look. But he’d disappeared, as quickly and quietly as he’d slipped in.
Bren stood alone in the narrow gap between buildings and pulled the scarf from her head. Her long robin red hair tumbled out, its glow gently haloing around her on the brick walls. The nighttime breeze picked up some tendrils and they blew behind her. She closed her eyes, and imagined herself as the lonely comet falling above the city.
"Go jump in the lake!” Bren shouted, but the door to the old theater had already swung shut a few inches from her nose. She pulled on the ends of her braids and let out a cry of frustration. They never, ever, ever let her in. She knew it was partly her fault, forgetting to bring a hat to cover her hair, but she knew that even if she did, they’d still find a reason to kick her out. The crisp air of late autumn nipped at the tips of her ears as she stood alone on the darkening street. Her long red hair, alight like a wildfire in the throes of her rage, kept the fading sunset alive. The glow washed over the street which had long since stopped using streetlamps. “This is discrimination!” she muttered, and kicked the heavy door.
“Don’t tell me they’re already full?” a voice asked. Bren turned around to see a dark man behind her. Stranger. She slid her hand into a pocket to find anything to defend herself with. The man, now illuminated in red, was about her age, maybe a bit older. His black clothes camouflaged him in the dark. Her hand relaxed around the scrap she’d found when she saw how dejected he looked.
“No, um, they just kicked me out. I’m sure you could still find a spot to squeeze into,” she said, her anger ebbing slightly. Her family always said she was too trusting, but she refused to take her anger out on some poor guy who just wanted to see the film. “Though the doors opened almost an hour ago, you’re a little late to the party.”
The man’s gaze dwelled a little too long on her third eye, unblinking as she stared back at him. He cleared his throat a little before looking down. He reached into an inner pocket of his brown coat and Bren hunched, a cat ready to pounce. But he simply pulled a slightly crumpled flyer out. The theater usually distributed advertisements drawn crudely on the back of any scrap of paper they could find. “I’d been hoping to slip in after the crowd,” he said sheepishly, “in case I see anyone who isn’t terribly fond of me.”
Bren felt a little camaraderie with this man. He only had two eyes and he didn’t glow, but she saw a little bit of herself in him. The lonely bit, probably. It was nice not being immediately scorned for what she was.
“That’s a neat trick,” he said, pointing at her barely dimming hair. She reached up to cover it with her hands, and the strands warmed her fingers from the generated light. Bren felt a little embarrassed; she was so used to getting a wide berth because of her mutations, like she was contagious.
“You should tell that to the owner,” she snapped, “the bastard never lets me in.” She turned and kicked the door again, feeling a little satisfied when she saw the dent her boot made. “I keep trying to borrow hats from my brothers, but they always say they have more important things going on to lend me anything.”
“I guess the red would be a little distracting,” the man said.
“They never let me see any of them. It’s so unfair,” Bren complained. She kicked the door again for good measure before slumping against the brick wall next to it. She knew she was being immature, and she’d kick herself later for letting some stranger see her act like a child. But it had been a long bad day and she knew she’d probably never see this guy again anyway. She sat with her head bent, refusing to look at the stranger. She heard him humming above her and saw his feet shuffling about on the pavement. She didn’t have to be an incredible psychic to sense his awkwardness of trying to think of something to do. She bit back a remark about not needing his pity when she felt a softness fall over her head and shoulders, and her vision darkened.
“Here, you can borrow this.” he said.
The scarf he had draped over her had a foreign wooliness to it. It was black, like the rest of his clothing, and swallowed up the red glow of her hair. It scratched against her cheeks slightly when she pushed it back to look at him. He smiled down at her and held out a hand. She grabbed it and he pulled her to his feet.
“Thanks,” she paused, unsure what to call him.
“I’m James,” he said.
“Bren.” She wrapped the scarf tightly around her hair and followed him through the door. They slipped in and stepped over people sitting on the floor. She found a tight spot on the floor to the right of the screen but realized James was no longer behind her. Without the illumination she was so used to, Bren felt blind in the darkness of the theater.
The showing was of the second Back to the Future movie. Bren laughed along with the crowd at the goofy portrayal of the future the generations before them expected. The amount of color in this on-screen world, and their completely impractical clothing was so different from anything the audience would ever know. Bren closed her eyes for a moment and imagined herself flying down the streets on the strange hoverboard. Her hair would stream behind her, the tail of a comet as she blurred past. Outrunning the world.
The movie ended too soon and the crowd groaned as the lights turned on. Bren bounced where she sat in lingering excitement and grabbed the hand of the woman next to her. “That was incredible! Even better than the last time I saw it!” She beamed at the lady, who stared wide-eyed at Bren’s forehead before recoiling and pulling her hand sharply away. She pulled her companion up with her and the two looked over their shoulders as they whispered and rushed towards the door. Bren’s hand drifted slowly downwards, and her embarrassed glow flared until it started to peek from the folds of black. She got up slowly, pulling the wooly scarf tighter around her to obscure more of her face. She bumped into a few more people as she wove her way to the door and they snapped at her. She didn’t see James amongst the crowd milling outside the door, and she even ducked into the alleyway for good measure to look. But he’d disappeared, as quickly and quietly as he’d slipped in.
Bren stood alone in the narrow gap between buildings and pulled the scarf from her head. Her long robin red hair tumbled out, its glow gently haloing around her on the brick walls. The nighttime breeze picked up some tendrils and they blew behind her. She closed her eyes, and imagined herself as the lonely comet falling above the city.